


teardrop on the fire

by heavensgardener (laskaris)



Category: Norse Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laskaris/pseuds/heavensgardener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now you see that you were wrong, that your too-gentle, too brittle, wife was not a chain: you know what chains are now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	teardrop on the fire

Faithfulness means being constant, holding steadfast: you could never be constant, always flowing like quicksilver, even your body changing moment by moment, no one could hold you, no one could make you feel: not Angrboda, your mistress, the mother of your monstrous children _(and your children will be the end of everything)_, not Sigyn, your wife who you had not picked but was given to you, a sweet bribe to try to make you be constant and against your own nature, a chain, and how you resented that.

_(Perhaps you loved them, perhaps you never did love them, only yourself: the line is blurring thin now, and your capricious heart is incapable of deciding)   
_  
But now you see that you were wrong, that your too-gentle, too brittle, wife was not a chain: you know what chains are now, your son's entrails turned to stone, turned to metal, bind you now, and that cursed snake drips venom into your eyes.

Her hair is gold, catching the remnants of light that filter into the cave, and she bends, pale and beautiful, tears glimmering on her cheeks, for she weeps, always weeps, and you can't help but wonder, even now, why she is with you now, faithful still, because you don't understand faithfulness: you always keep to the letter of your word, your promise, but any loophole you betray, never true faithfulness, and you have no idea what keeps Sigyn here.

_(You are a terrible husband, and you know it, and you cannot feel anything about it: why feel remorse over something you cannot change, you are mutable and your heart fickle, you are as you were made) _

"The bowl is full, love," Sigyn whispers, her voice tarnished gold in the darkness: she has changed, as you have changed, nurtured bitterness along with her gentleness _(they were **her** children, too)_, and even her love is tinged with hate, no longer the perfect, biddable wife they gave to you, but something different, falling away from the good intentions and unchanging stasis of her kinsmen, something closer to you _(how ironic, that she was given to you in order to try to change you to become more like her, and in the end, she becomes more like **you**) _

And in that moment, as she pulls the bowl away, you love her _(for the first time, again)_, sincerely, even as the poison falls into your eyes and there is nothing, nothing but searing agony.   
_  
(The world is burning, and Sigyn is crying, always crying, never (always) for you, and her tears aren't enough to quench the fire)   
_


End file.
